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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26009986">A Town Called Aspen Grove</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArvenaPeredhel/pseuds/ArvenaPeredhel'>ArvenaPeredhel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2020 but without COVID, Alternate Universe - No Pandemic, Gen, Horseback Riding, M/M, Modern Setting, Not a modern AU, Post-Canon, Small Towns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:47:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,954</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26009986</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArvenaPeredhel/pseuds/ArvenaPeredhel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Seventh Age of Arda, Findekáno journeys back East to find his cousin, only this time, Oromë urges him to bring horses along. He settles in a Pennsylvania town called Aspen Grove, and stumbles across someone he didn't dare to hope to see again. A series of vignettes and short pieces, sporadically updated, containing all the necessary background information up front. I just wanted to write a fic with the tone of a Lifetime Christmas Movie that had horses in it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Premise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astaldont/gifts">Astaldont</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> In the year 2020 of the Seventh Age of Arda, Findekáno Astaldo Nolofinwion leaves the Blessed Realm of Aman to return to the Hither Shores and search for his cousin Kanafinwë Makalaurë Fëanárion. At the urging of Oromë the Huntsman, he takes two companions with him - his own gelding Fânrhoss, and his husband Maitimo’s stallion Ilmarunda - and sets out on his journey. They land on the west coast of a continent called North America, with only the contents of their saddlebags and a seemingly bottomless satchel filled with cash to sustain them. Two years pass, and they slowly make their way East, meeting people and familiarizing themselves with this strange new world, until at last they come to the town of Aspen Grove, Pennsylvania. To Findekáno’s shock, Ilmarunda refuses to journey onward, instead almost demanding they go into town. Always one to explore new worlds, the Noldorin prince ventures into the small community, encountering close-knit American daily life for the first time. He rents a room in a local bed and breakfast, and the horses find a temporary home at New Dawn Stables, a world-renowned dressage barn famous (and infamous) for only using positive reinforcement but unfailingly turning out Olympic medalists year after year. Despite wanting to move on, Findekáno finds himself charmed by the little town, and by the enigmatic owner of New Dawn, a mysterious man named Russ Smithson…</em>
</p><p>
  <b>This is not a regular longform fic - I’ll be posting excerpts and fragments as I feel like it, in (hopefully) more or less chronological order. Original characters and background information will be supplied as needed. Essentially, this is a fun project, to be updated sporadically and inconsistently as inspiration strikes. Enjoy!</b>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Background Information</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>The Setting: </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Aspen Grove is a small rural-ish town of about 1000 people near the New York/Pennsylvania border. There’s no Walmart, no big-box shopping center, and most of the residents are farmers or commute elsewhere to work. Somehow, time seems to have passed this place by, granting access to the Internet and modern technology without bringing contemporary attitudes and troubles along as well. The younger residents assume it’s just part of the small-town charm, but the old-timers know there’s something special about this place, and it started around the time Russ Smithson the First came to stay, claiming to be a war veteran with nowhere else to go. The small businesses stay in the black, the community supports itself, and everyone gets along. Yes, it is rather unrealistic, but at this point, no one bothers questioning it - this is a good, welcoming, </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe </span>
  </em>
  <span>place to live, especially if you’re marginalized in some way. Only good has come of whatever changes have been wrought.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>The Stable:</b>
</p><p>
  <span>New Dawn Riding has existed for seventy-five years, ever since its founding by Russ Smithson I in 1945. Its most notable feature is a truly massive indoor ring, built to Russ’s specifications, and an outdoor ring to match, but it also sits on several acres of pasture and trails. Professionally, Russ teaches dressage, but he also offers beginner classes in English riding. He’s both beloved (by a small group of people) and loathed (by a lot of his colleagues in his sport) for using positive reinforcement only in his training, and he’s notorious for working his students hard and having high, exacting expectations. Boarders must come in at least every other day, and see him once a week, and all students work around the stables and must do so to his standards. Fees are on a sliding scale, ranging from reasonably expensive to free, depending on income. There are thirty horses stabled at New Dawn, both boarders and those owned by Russ; he knows all of them equally well, and they love him. It’s almost as if they speak a language no one else understands. Failure to pitch in and work will get any student kicked out, no matter how rich they are; the same is true with failure to visit your horse enough if you’re boarding, or failure to train how he insists a horse ought to be trained.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Russ Smithson III:</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Impossibly tall, with long red hair that can’t be a natural color, and piercing silver eyes that seem to burn when he gets truly angry. Officially, the current owner of New Dawn Stables is the grandson of the place’s founder, but no one has ever met any of the children or wives necessary for such a thing to be true. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Unofficially,</span>
  </em>
  <span> no one asks questions. Whatever his story is, he’s kind, and practical, and an unfailing ally to any good cause, and he has a knack for fixing problems if he finds out about them. He kept the big-box stores out, and keeps the small businesses in the black, and volunteers for any community projects, and he’s always polite to everyone he meets while being utterly enigmatic about his personal life. He lives in a ranch house that his grandfather supposedly built by hand, near his stables. All attempts to set him up with a nice girl or boy have failed. Still, he’s beloved, and though he barely knows it he’s got an entire town on his side, whatever comes. Unlike others in his position, Russ seems to resent his fame, and never wastes an opportunity to disparage show horse culture as a whole. Regardless, his riders still compete, and they never fail to do well. He’s an accomplished horse breeder, and knows nearly as much about them as the local veterinarian. He rarely rides himself, and when he does, it’s obvious he’s holding back. Any praise he gives is well-earned, but despite his thorny demeanor he has a reputation for being a fair, respectful teacher who will help anyone truly willing to learn.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Cast of Original Characters:</b>
</p>
<ul>
<li>
<em><span>Rick Walker,</span></em><span> the stablehand. Works full-time at New Dawn, probably the closest thing Russ has to a friend.</span>
</li>
<li>
<em><span>Clarice de Witt,</span></em><span> the little old lady who runs the ice cream shop in town. Russ Smithson is her favorite person. Grandmother of Veronica Martin.</span>
</li>
<li>
<em><span>Belinda King,</span></em><span> Clarice's best friend and the source of all the good gossip. She’s at the center of the town’s social scene, and she makes a killer key lime pie.</span>
</li>
<li>
<em><span>Dante Cooper,</span></em><span> Belinda's grandson who runs the local barbershop. Young, in his early 20s.</span>
</li>
<li>
<em><span>Kayleigh Dean,</span></em><span> thirteen-year-old dressage student, rich but not particularly stuck-up about it.</span>
</li>
<li>
<em><span>Katryn Dean,</span></em><span> Kayleigh's younger sister, who's in the beginner class</span>
</li>
<li>
<em><span>Gabrielle Campbell,</span></em><span> seventeen-year-old dressage student. Very Very Good. Good enough that Russ has been waiving her fees because her family can't afford them but he wants her to succeed and he has Connections.</span>
</li>
<li>
<em><span>Keegan Cooper,</span></em><span> Dante's younger brother who’s about thirteen years old. </span>
</li>
<li>
<em><span>Jocelyn Conner,</span></em><span> a fourteen-year-old rider from Veronica Martin’s stables the next county over. Wishes she could attend New Dawn, but her parents won’t make the drive.</span>
</li>
<li>
<em><span>Veronica Martin,</span></em><span> owner and proprietress of Highmark Riding. Russ’s nemesis, who despises him but who can’t do anything too intense without getting a phone call from her grandmother demanding she be nice to that nice man.</span>
</li>
</ul>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Arrival at New Dawn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You understand that boarding here means you work, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I do,” Findekáno answered, frowning at the suggestion that it meant anything else. “Why would I keep my horses someplace I wouldn’t work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hah,” the Man named Rick Walker said, shrugging. He was broad-shouldered and deep-chested, and the motion shifted his whole upper body and his arms. “You’d be surprised how many people expect </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span> to take care of everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me and the other stablehands,” he explained. “A lot of rich kids seem to think that our job is to wait on them hand and foot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re never going to be a good rider, or even a tolerable one, if you don’t know how to take care of a horse,” Findekáno said. “Even - even medieval kings knew that, and they had servants for days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You a historian, then?” Rick asked, gesturing at Findekáno’s tunic and leggings. “Or one of those reenactor people?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that,” he replied. “What does working entail? Looking after my own horses? Helping with yours? Mucking out stalls?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All of the above, plus whatever Russ decides you ought to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Russ?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Russ Smithson,” the Man replied. “He’s the owner. Real eccentric type, but a good soul.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eccentric how?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s what my grandma would’ve called a contrary old cuss, if she’d known him,” Rick said. “World-famous, but hates it. Loathes showing horses and chasing ribbons, but never fails to turn out at least one Olympian every couple of years. Lives alone and won’t answer a single question about himself, but he’s there for every town council meeting. You’ll be lucky to get so much as a ‘good job’ from him, but underneath all that he’s the nicest man you’ll ever meet in your life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know the type,” Findekáno said. “Do I have to sign anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Rick said, glancing over the paperwork on his desk. “But just so you know - Russ approves every boarder personally. He’ll want to meet you by the day after tomorrow at the latest, and if he doesn’t like you, you’re out.” He looked up at Findekáno, eyes flinty and serious. “Deal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal,” the </span>
  <em>
    <span>nér </span>
  </em>
  <span>agreed. For a moment he nearly drew his arm across his chest as a sign of respect, and then remembered he was dealing with Atani and extended his right hand to shake. Rick took it, surprised by his firm grip, and then smiled at him faintly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s see your horses,” he said. “They in a trailer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no,” Findekáno said, getting up from the cramped chair he’d practically folded himself into. Among his own people he was on the taller side of “average”; here on the Hither Shores, he was a giant. Rick followed him, and he couldn’t help but notice that the Man seemed to have shrunk between the hallway and back in the office. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe he steps up to get to the chair? I can see that being useful, if you want to see out the windows into the ring. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t keep them in a trailer,” he continued, leading Rick back outside to the entrance of the stable. “And we’ve been traveling together for almost three years now - if I did </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>I think Ilmarunda would revolt.” He looked around the yard, seeing nothing, and sighed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s just like them to go wandering, isn’t it? And when I want to show them off. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“One moment,” he said to Rick, who he could tell was beginning to be very confused. He took a deep breath and let out a shrill, ear-piercing whistle that carried across the whole of the yard, echoing over the trees back to where he stood. At first, there was no answer, and then came the familiar drum of hoofbeats on the ground. The horses came cantering up from a copse of trees perhaps a furlong away. Ilmarunda led - he always did - and beside him Fânrhoss seemed almost half-grown. They didn’t bother with the gate, instead jumping over the fence easily; when they halted in front of him, he could hear Rick’s astonished gasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You - you know that horse breaks the world record,” the Man managed at last, as Findekáno submitted to a thorough nosing over by each animal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The what?” he asked, surprised, and then turned and looked sharply at Ilmarunda, who’d taken the opportunity to nibble on one of his braids. The stallion spat out his hair, but didn’t bother to appear sorry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The world record for size,” Rick said. “That’s the largest horse I’ve ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and I’ve seen a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a trained war horse,” Findekáno said. “And sometimes used for pleasure riding, when he’s not trying to eat my hair.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“War horse?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, he’s too big for anything else, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - oh, you’re one of those Renaissance fair types!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a what now?” Findekáno asked, turning around to face a dumbstruck Rick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do that jousting shit, right? At the fairs and like. Medieval Times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do joust,” Findekáno said, “you’re right about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy mackerel,” Rick breathed, staring up at Ilmarunda. “I’ve seen jousts. I’d hate to have him barreling down at me, if I were riding against you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, I’d be jousting on Fânrhoss,” the </span>
  <em>
    <span>nér </span>
  </em>
  <span>said, gesturing to his own gelding, who was perhaps six inches shorter than he was at the withers. “Ilmarunda here’s just to keep me company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some company,” Rick said, laughing nervously. “Uh - anyway, bring them inside? I’ll show you where to stow their tack. I’ve got a class to teach, ‘cause Russ is out trail riding with some tourists, but I can get them set up in their stalls first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have stalls big enough for them?” Findekáno asked, taking the reins of both horses and following Rick back into the stable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two of them. Biggest stalls in the place. I asked the boss if we were gonna be boarding </span>
  <em>
    <span>Trojan</span>
  </em>
  <span> horses.” He laughed; Findekáno didn’t follow his joke. New Dawn Riding was shaped rather like a lopsided </span>
  <em>
    <span>órë, </span>
  </em>
  <span>with a straight section of stalls and a single tack room, an absolutely immense indoor ring behind them that stretched out to Findekáno’s right when he faced its entrance, and then a shorter section of building on its other end that probably held spare supplies and tack. It was rather like the stables at any elven manor house, and that gave him comfort. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Some things, at least, never change. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“The indoor ring might even be big enough to exercise, uh, Elmo?” Rick called as they walked. “That his name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ilmarunda,” Findekáno said, sliding back into his native accent and its familiar open vowels and trilled R. “It means ‘Star-burnished’ or ‘Star-polished’ in English, because he’s dappled.” They were inside the stable properly now, and he had to laugh - Ilmarunda was on the taller side of Amani-bred horses, but he wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>immense, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and yet the majority of this place seemed tailor-made for creatures half his size. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I suppose we’re giants all together, here, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, and even smiled bemusedly at the stallion when he passed by an inquisitive bay who tried to say hello and found itself staring at a foreleg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the original language?” the Man asked as he walked. “Sounds like Finnish, maybe, or something like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t speak Finnish, but maybe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, well, you can’t know everything,” Rick said. They had come to the end of a wide hallway of stalls; the much-smaller horses on either side were intently watching the new arrivals. “Anyway, here we are - right where we started, actually. See? The boss’s office is right across the way. He’s got a window to look at these stalls, and then facing the indoor ring behind us, and a third on the opposite side looking out into the hospital paddock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hospital paddock?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s what he calls it,” Rick said. “For any of the horses who’re sick, or injured and recovering, or when one of the mares has a foal they stay there until they’re ready to join the herd.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This Russ fellow must like to have an eye on everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll want you to call him Mr. Smithson, but yeah,” Rick agreed. He was struggling with the door to the first larger stall - it was taller, and thicker, than the others, and stretched over his head. “Yeah, he does. There!” The door swung open at last. “It’s all cleaned out - we clean the empty stalls every week - and ready for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” Findekáno mused, glancing at the horses. “Which of you wants the first one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ilmarunda planted his feet in the dirt quite firmly, refusing to move; Fânrhoss was far more agreeable, trotting smartly into his new (temporary) home. Findekáno waited for the second stall to open, letting Ilmarunda walk in and inspect it once Rick managed to get the door to unlatch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s almost like these were sized for this fellow,” the stablehand said, watching as the dapple-grey stallion nosed at hay and water before giving an almost agreeable grunt and taking a drink. “Compared to him, this space isn’t big at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoever Mr. Smithson is, he’s got good sense,” Findekáno agreed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You… you don’t see anything unusual about his size, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why should I?” the </span>
  <em>
    <span>nér </span>
  </em>
  <span>asked, stepping into Ilmarunda’s stall and beginning to untack him. “My father’s horse is his sire, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> isn’t this tall, but he’s broader, and there are others that are more or less this size.” He looked up at Rick, who was pale and wide-eyed. “Is that unusual?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’re a tall fellow yourself, so I guess it makes sense your family breeds tall horses,” he said at last. “Especially if you do the Renaissance faire circuit. But that horse is the size of an Indian elephant and you’re telling me that’s normal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the first person I’ve met in a while who wasn’t immediately awestruck by my height,” Findekáno said. “It’s really not that impressive. I’m on the taller side of ‘average’ in my family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Russ is taller than you,” Rick said, “so I’m probably used to that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Findekáno asked. “I didn’t know people got that tall in this country.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes - hey, wait, what do you mean ‘this country’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not from this land originally,” the </span>
  <em>
    <span>nér </span>
  </em>
  <span>explained, getting Ilmarunda’s saddle off at last. He set it down on a bench; he’d clean it later once Fânrhoss was untacked and his saddlebags were stowed. “I’m here looking for my cousin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“European, right?” Rick asked. “You’ve got one of those European accents.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t know,” Findekáno said cheerfully. “My voice sounds normal to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rick shrugged. “Anyway,” he said, “I’ve got a class I should teach - a lot of beginners. After an hour and a half the ring will be clear, if you want to exercise either of your horses. We’re expecting rain later so I’d stay indoors, but you’re the only boarder right now who’s not here regularly for class, so I’ll give you first dibs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Findekáno said, and smiled. “I might do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stablehand was gone, leaving him alone; he laughed to himself as he finished untacking Ilmarunda. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Humans are funny, aren’t they? </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, and was answered by a grunt from the stallion.</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wonder what they’ll do if they guess I’m not one of them. Oh, well, I’ll face that when it happens. Worst comes to worst you can kick them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That got him another grunt, and he had the distinct impression Ilmarunda was laughing at him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It took the better part of the allotted hour and a half to groom Fânrhoss until Findekáno was satisfied. Their travel had been easy these past weeks, and so neither the horses nor their rider were filthy, but by the time he was finished the </span>
  <em>
    <span>nér </span>
  </em>
  <span>couldn’t help but notice that his gelding’s famously sour mood seemed to have lifted a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I didn’t know any better,” he joked, “I’d think you almost liked me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fânrhoss glanced at him, unimpressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right,” he said, laughing. “We’re still not friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could set the comb down, he heard a sudden burst of activity in the hallway outside the stalls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whose horse is that?” a high voice asked, awestruck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be silly. Even the biggest horses aren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>big,” another voice said. “I bet it’s a statue or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Lisa, it’s moving!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pause, and then a slightly astonished “So it’s animatronic. So what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It can’t be an animatronic! Look, he’s breathing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I </span>
  </em>
  <span>went to Disney World this past spring,” yet another voice said, “and I saw some of their brand new animatronics from Galaxy’s Edge - they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>realistic enough to do that. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be fake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would Mr. Smithson want a fake horse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re talking about Ilmarunda,” Findekáno said with a smile, turning and sticking his head out of the half-open door, “he’s definitely real. His sire and dam are a little smaller, but he’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>much </span>
  </em>
  <span>bigger than they are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A cluster of human girls stood in the sawdust and the dirt just inside the hall. He wondered if they were part of the riding class that Rick had mentioned teaching, and if so, whether or not they were ignoring their instructor to focus on the novelty of his arrival.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, really?” one of them - the one who’d mentioned going to ‘Disney World’ - asked. “How? He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can anybody ride him?” another asked. She was dressed in rough, dusty clothes that looked built for function over form, and her long hair was tied behind her head in a low horsetail. “Or is he just for work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably not,” another girl murmured. “He’s so big - he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>too big for any of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not for Mr. Smithson,” the owner of the second voice said; she was looking up at Ilmarunda with a bold expression. “I bet he’s as big to Mr. Smithson as a Clydesdale is to my dad, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>can ride our draft horses just fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This Mr. Smithson must be tall, then,” Findekáno said, walking out of Fânrhoss’s stall and closing the door behind him. He slid the bolt into place unthinkingly, momentarily surprised that the lock was built Noldorin-fashion. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I suppose the things that work truly </span>
  </em>
  <span>work, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and that’s why.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“He - oh, shit, you’re tall too!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was Lisa, and the girls around her burst into a fit of nervous giggles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>tall,” Findekáno said, smiling. “But Ilmarunda is still rather large for me, even with my height.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>ride him?” another one of the children asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can,” he said; he was answered by a flurry of gasps and cries of “Please show us!” and “Can he jump?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One at a time,” he said, smiling in spite of himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl whose family owned draft horses spoke up first. She was darker-skinned than Findekáno, with her hair in tight braids close to her skull, and she looked as if she meant business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you show us how he is in the ring?” she asked. “Even if it’s just walking him. He’s already tacked up and everything!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you have a lesson in the ring?” Findekáno replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not anymore,” Lisa said. “It’s over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what about </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>horses?” he asked, watching as his unexpected audience turned red-faced and embarrassed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re waiting to be untacked,” the girl who’d been to ‘Disney Land’ admitted. “We got distracted.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there anyone using the ring after you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” another girl said. “We’re the last class of the day, because Mr. Smithson usually has trail rides with tourists into the evening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” Findekáno said, and then he smiled. “Take care of your horses, and then come back to the ring. Ilmarunda will have to wait for his grooming.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smiles that answered him were a little overwhelming, but the girls did exactly as he said, dashing back to the ring and then walking their mounts back to their stalls, chattering amongst themselves as they went. Once they passed, he opened up Ilmarunda’s stall, smiling up at the horse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, then,” he murmured. “Let’s show them what you’re made of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time the humans returned, clustered around the entrance to the ring, he was already mounted up and waiting for them. Rick hadn’t exaggerated - the ring was immense, large enough for him to let even his seemingly immense horses canter and jump. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ilmarunda is a little different from the horses you might be familiar with,” he said, running one hand down the stallion’s neck. “For one thing, he’s not gelded, which means he can be rather temperamental when he’s not treated right. For another, he’s a trained warhorse, and not a pleasure mount.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A warhorse?!” Lisa cried; the girl with the braids scoffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It means he’s in Renaissance fairs,” she explained, and again Findekáno was left unsure of what exactly that</span>
  <em>
    <span> meant. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“He jousts and other things like that. Right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>trained to joust,” Findekáno agreed, “but mostly what he’s meant for is carrying an armored rider into battle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Historical reenactment?” one of the other girls said. “Cool!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that why his saddle is weird?” another chimed in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can he do dressage?” the ‘Disney World’ girl asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He can perform in a drill,” Findekáno said. “He’ll do more or less anything I ask of him, even though it’s not his primary job.” He shifted in the saddle, cueing the stallion into a walk with his knee. When he bothered with reins, he held them in his left hand, as Maitimo had; Ilmarunda had never seen his master prior to Thangorodrim. “Now, if you don’t mind - I’m going to put him through his paces.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He maintained the walk for a complete circuit around the ring, just to make sure the both of them were warmed up, and then gave the signal for a trot. Ilmarunda responded ably, changing gaits without hesitation, but it wasn’t long before Findekáno faced an unexpected obstacle: his audience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to post to trot!” Lisa shouted at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not every riding style does that!” someone else told her, only for a third to enthusiastically agree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you’re all right riding him?” she asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of Sindarin nonsense is that?” Findekáno muttered to himself and to Ilmarunda, groaning softly before shifting forward in the saddle and flawlessly rising and falling. “Of all the things to survive…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The criticism ceased as soon as the girls got a good look at his form. He could feel them watching him, wide-eyed and shocked, and when he was satisfied that they wouldn’t critique him a second time he sat back down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not every technique calls for posting,” he explained as he rode by where they stood. “Whoever said that was right. Where I come from, it’s customary to sit the trot, though you can learn other styles, or even create your own, if you’re experienced enough.” He turned his attention back to his mount, grinning at the stallion’s obvious anticipation. “All right, you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Á norta.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ilmarunda flew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They circled the ring once, twice, thrice, at a canter. A line bisected it, drawn in the dirt, probably a teaching aid made by Rick or the elusive Mr. Smithson; on their fourth pass Findekáno cued the stallion into leaping over it as if it were a fence or a pole. Twice more they whirled around the perimeter, and then back into a trot and at last a walk; from there, he took hold of the reins and guided Ilmarunda into a full cavalry drill, complete with complicated exhibition spirals taken at a rising trot and flying lead changes that swept by in a blur. The pair of them moved in unison - he knew his cues and gestures would be all but invisible to the watching girls, and he could practically hear their gasps of admiration - and flowed through each stage of the exercise without any error. At last, he pulled up before the humans, signaling Ilmarunda into an </span>
  <em>
    <span>alacapië. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The stallion leapt into the air and kicked out hard with both hind legs as if aiming to snap an orc’s neck before slamming down into the ground on all four hooves with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud </span>
  </em>
  <span>that shook the whole of the ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a few moments, all was silent, until at last the first cry of shocked astonishment tore its way from the crowd of girls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was incredible!” Lisa said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were the names of those maneuvers?” the girl with the braids demanded. “I want to learn them!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” another cried. “Is that proper dressage?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I showed you a Noldorin combat drill,” Findekáno said, breathless but grinning. “I couldn’t tell you if it’s proper dressage, but it would pass inspection in any army worth its salt.” He kneed Ilmarunda into a walk, this time aiming for a slow cooldown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that last thing?” another girl asked. “It looked like one of the old airs above the ground, like a capriole or something, but the legs are folded wrong for a capriole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s called an </span>
  <em>
    <span>alacapië, </span>
  </em>
  <span>or ‘great leap’,” Findekáno said, pitching his voice up to carry around the ring. “The idea is that you break the neck of anyone behind you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You weren’t kidding when you said he was a war horse,” Lisa said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Findekáno agreed, “I wasn’t.” He finished the last loop in silence, finally dismounting and guiding Ilmarunda back to his new stall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, girls,” a new voice said; Rick had emerged from the office and was looking at them bemusedly. “It’s time you went home, don’t you think? I know for a fact there are parents waiting for all of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This news was met with somewhat disappointed acceptance, and soon every one of Findekáno’s admirers had trailed out towards the far exit. Rick looked up at Ilmarunda, obviously impressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw you in the ring,” he said. “Damn, you can ride.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not as good as some I’ve known,” Findekáno said, “but thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think Russ is probably better than you?” the stablehand said. “But only by a little. Boy, I’d love to see what he could do with that horse of yours. We’ve got a big shire horse named Muriel who’s the only one big enough for him to ride, but you can tell he’s not thrilled with her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Muriel’s an interesting name for a horse,” Findekáno said. He’d gotten into Ilmarunda’s stall, and the stallion was crosstied for his grooming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, she’s named after Russ’s grandma Muriel Sarah, I think. It sounds like an old lady name, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose,” Findekáno answered, beginning to groom Ilmarunda in earnest. “I’m going to groom him, and give him a nice rubdown, and then I’ll be heading into town to hunt down someplace to stay the night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to stay here?” Rick asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ve got a shed onsite - more of a cabin, really - that I use when Russ goes away for shows, and it’s empty for the moment. Go into town and get some dinner, and then come back here and I’ll get you settled in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Findekáno told him, smiling. “I’m really very glad to have found someplace so friendly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s us,” Rick said, returning his smile. “We’re a friendly bunch here in Aspen Grove.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost friendly enough that I could stay forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you? At least for a while. If Russ likes you, you can board here as long as you like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a thing, for all my fortunes to hang on the regard of a man I’ve never met!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, he’ll like you,” Rick said. “He’ll have to, once he sees you ride. You heard it here first - he’s gonna want you to give lessons, at least. Form like that doesn’t come around very often, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Findekáno said, picking up a brush. “Believe me. I know.” He looked at Ilmarunda, who looked back at him, and he shrugged. “Fine. If Mr. Smithson likes me? I’ll stay.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>If only I knew for sure what staying could </span>
  </em>
  <span>mean.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The knock on the door came sharply, all at once and unexpected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finn! Hey, Finn!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Findekáno opened his eyes and sat up all at once, his hand going to his hip for a knife that wasn’t there before he remembered that this was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>nicer </span>
  </em>
  <span>place on the Hither Shores than Beleriand had been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” he asked, glancing around the room to remind himself where he’d put his clothes and boots</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened; Rick’s head slipped into the cabin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gotta get up and come down to the stable,” he said. “Your horse - Elmo, the big fellow - he’s screaming his damn head off and snapping at anybody who comes near him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Findekáno asked, biting back a number of Quenya curses and sliding out of bed. He’d stripped down to his undershirt and stockings, and he seized his trousers from the floor and pulled them up to his waist. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Couldn’t tell you,” Rick said. “He started trying to kick down the door to his stall maybe ten minutes ago, while we were going through and feeding every horse who’s got morning classes, and he’s probably going to kill himself if he doesn’t stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Muk,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he groaned, yanking on one boot and then the other. “I’m coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They took the trail down to the stable at a run, with Findekáno outpacing Rick easily. The nearer they drew to the stable, the more evident Ilmarunda’s distress became - his neighing carried across the morning air, and there was a man standing at the entrance to the stable looking anxiously at the two of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what the problem is,” he said, first to Rick and then to Findekáno as the three of them walked through the doors. “Russ and Muriel are out for a morning ride, and Russ wants to fix some fences on the southern border of the property, and he stuck his head in to make sure I was all right before they left, and then maybe five minutes later this starts. I tried to find him but they were already gone, and it just kept getting worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did he </span>
  <em>
    <span>see </span>
  </em>
  <span>Russ?” Findekáno asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope. I guess maybe he could have </span>
  <em>
    <span>smelled </span>
  </em>
  <span>him, but that seems a little implausible, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really implausible. He’s got a great nose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d come to the end of the row of stalls by now, and Ilmarunda was still kicking at the sides and door. As Findekáno approached him, he let out a great trumpet of a call that seemed to demand answer from every other horse in the stable. Fânrhoss beside him had moved to the far corner of his own stall, ears flat back against his head and eyes wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy,” Findekáno said, and then shouted the word again. “Easy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ilmarunda didn’t seem to hear him. He was facing a small window in the back wall, and despite the noise and rearing kicks he didn’t seem to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>afraid </span>
  </em>
  <span>so much as </span>
  <em>
    <span>determined. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Unlike Fânrhoss, his ears were pricking upward, and his whole body was tense and focused, as if there was some threat or danger that none of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fírimar </span>
  </em>
  <span>or mortal horses had sensed yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going in there,” Findekáno said, glancing at Rick and the other stablehand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think - !” Rick said, but it was too late. He’d already reached up to unlock the stall door, and before anyone could protest further, he was inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ilmarunda stilled, once he entered. The straw in the stall was pawed up and piled in odd corners, and the walls bore new signs of abuse from his massive hooves. Even unshod, as he almost always was now that Himring and its rocky paths were a distant memory, he did enough damage to be a nuisance Findekáno crossed the floor carefully, one hand raised, keeping his eyes always on the immense stallion.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Asra,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he murmured, and lowered his hand toward the horse’s withers carefully. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Súya.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ilmarunda was still and silent for a long moment, and then he blew air out his nostrils in a long sigh and let Findekáno touch him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s got you so worked up?” the </span>
  <em>
    <span>nér </span>
  </em>
  <span>asked, shaking his head. “You’ll hurt yourself if you’re not careful, didn’t you know that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stallion flicked one ear back towards him, eyes fixed on the outside world. Whatever had spooked him had been serious, and that was worth paying mind to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to take him out, I think,” Findekáno said, pitching his voice up so Rick and the other hand could hear him. “Maybe an early-morning ride will do him some good.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>And if there </span>
  </em>
  <span>is </span>
  <em>
    <span>something out there, we’ll find it before any of these poor humans do. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Rick said from outside the stall, “you sure about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, why ever not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because every stallion I’ve ever seen in a mood like that wasn’t fit to be ridden until he’d calmed down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He likes people,” Findekáno said, petting slow circles in the horse’s dappled coat. “And this </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>a new place. If he smelled something or saw something that upset him, getting a better look at it might aid him in adjusting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds like backwards logic, but I guess,” Rick said. Findekáno could tell he wasn’t convinced. “I mean, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> your horse, and it’s not like I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop </span>
  </em>
  <span>you from taking him. Russ might, if he were here, but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he isn’t here,” the </span>
  <em>
    <span>nér </span>
  </em>
  <span>said, “and barring his final word I think I can handle my horse.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Even if he isn’t truly mine. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think he’ll stand to be tacked up?” the other stablehand asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be riding him bareback, I think,” Findekáno said. “I’d like to get him out of here before he has the chance to work himself up again, and it would take too long to get his saddle and bridle on.” He clicked his tongue to get the horse’s attention, and signaled with his left hand; Ilmarunda turned around to face the still-open door. Another signal and he got to his knees somewhat awkwardly, allowing his rider to mount up without the use of a block. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rick let out a low whistle. He was standing by the door, watching as Findekáno easily straddled the stallion’s broad back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s one hell of a trained horse,” he said, obviously impressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His true owner was missing a hand,” the </span>
  <em>
    <span>nér </span>
  </em>
  <span>explained, “and Ilmarunda was with him from weaning onward. They had a lot of time to perfect voice commands and hand signals.” He clicked his tongue again, shifting his weight as Ilmarunda got back to his feet with some difficulty. “But I think it paid off well.” He smiled at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fírimar, </span>
  </em>
  <span>tucking a braid back over his shoulder after it had fallen forward. “Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Rick and the other hand stepped back, letting him ride Ilmarunda down the row of stalls toward the door. The other horses had quieted since answering the newcomer’s outbursts, and each of them watched as he left. Findekáno wondered how long it would take him to establish himself as the herd stallion, and if he would face any competition. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That can wait, though, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he chided himself, ducking as they passed through the doors and emerged into the cool early morning. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We might not be staying, if there’s something dangerous here, and if that’s the case… </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He let the thought trail off, directing Ilmarunda toward a nearby trailhead that led into the woods with his knee. The horse beneath him was still alert, watching and listening to everything; he had calmed, but he hadn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>settled, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and this too was unusual enough to be concerning. He paused as they neared the trail, tossing his head and shifting his weight, and Findekáno could feel him breathe in deeply - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>- in an instant, everything changed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ilmarunda turned sharply to the right, springing forward into a canter, and then a full gallop. Findekáno gasped, nearly falling; only his quick reflexes and the horse’s thick mane saved him from taking a tumble. Rather than enter the woods, they were flying across flat grassy pasture, eating up the distance between them and the nearest fence at speeds that were still astonishing even after all this time. Before he could give an order, Ilmarunda was leaping over the fence, and then they were on the ground again and he was tearing down a hill and into the trees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ilmarunda!” Findekáno cried, but it was worse than useless. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Something </span>
  </em>
  <span>had caught the stallion’s attention, and he was Halls-bent on pursuing it; all his rider could do was stay on and hope they wouldn’t end up in a ditch with a broken leg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Woods and meadows and more woods passed in blurs of green-brown-grey-green. For all his size, Ilmarunda was as fast as any of the lighter-boned Sindarin mounts, and as dextrous, too. Twice they nearly slammed into the trunks of offending trees, and twice Findekáno was jerked from side to side as his mount shied away from them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Should I be afraid? </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wondered, ducking under a branch and trying his best to see where they were going. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What if we’re running </span>
  </em>
  <span>from </span>
  <em>
    <span>something, and the stable’s in danger? What if - ?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The trees stopped all at once, opening up onto a sloping pasture bordered by yet another fence perhaps a furlong away. Ilmarunda raced down toward it, each stride bringing them closer and closer. All of a sudden Findekáno realized there was another horse beside the fence, so pale grey it was almost white, and saddled and bridled. Beside it was a tall figure, facing away from them - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>- Ilmarunda slammed to a halt, sharp and sudden, ceasing to move so rapidly that this time Findekáno couldn’t help but fall off, thankfully missing the fence. He landed in a heap, arms instinctively covering his head; the ground smelled of dew and clean grass, and was soft enough to keep him from being injured. He lay still for a moment, in case his horse was going to take off a second time, but there was no such outburst. Instead, the stallion was still, unmoving while the person whose privacy they’d interrupted turned to examine them. He remembered suddenly that the elusive Russ Smithson had been examining the fences, and winced - </span>
  <em>
    <span>what a horrid way to introduce myself to him! - </span>
  </em>
  <span>and braced himself for the inevitable demand for answers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It never came.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair of boots that surely were worn by Russ were as still as Ilmarunda, standing in front of the stallion. For a long moment, there was no sound but the easy breathing of the horses, and then - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ilmarunda?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Findekáno sprang up from the ground in an instant, nearly launching himself to his feet, the astonished gasp already on his lips</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Maitimo?!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
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